


catch me if you can

by jisunrise



Series: just stray kids things [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst and Humor, Bad at tagging, Christmas, Don’t worry, Humor, I’ll tag later if I remember anything, M/M, Murderers, One Shot, Shooting Guns, murderer!jisung, no one dies, sorry - Freeform, the others are there for like 2 seconds or mentioned only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jisunrise/pseuds/jisunrise
Summary: "okay, hold up. that is so stereotypical right there. why do all serial killers have to wear black? like, there's no dress code for being a serial killer. besides, is it really that big of a deal that i was trying to get into the christmas spirit? you didn't have to go and laugh at me. you, sir, have offended me.""i mean, well, aren't, um, serial killers supposed to try to blend in? isn't that the point of wearing black? i mean, it's definitely not like that sweater right there is catching anyone's attention at all, but like, wouldn't black be more suitable?"orthe serial killer minsung au nobody asked for and i wrote so--





	catch me if you can

**Author's Note:**

> is it anywhere near december? nope.  
> is anybody thinking about christmas right now? nope.  
> did i write a christmas themed fic anyways because i felt like it? yes. yes i did.  
> enjoy!

christmas night is supposed to be filled with "joy" and "holiday cheer".   
holiday lights, the scent of gingerbread and peppermint, caroling, and warm hugs.   
minho, being the crabby old grandma that he is, doesn't participate.   
instead, he spends christmas night every year holed up in his tiny apartment with a bowl of clumsily microwaved popcorn and netflix loading off of trashy wi-fi connection.   
there's no tree, no merry "jingle bells", no stockings above the fireplace in his apartment. while his neighbors go all out with decorations (seriously, was that giant mechanical gingerbread man outside their door really necessary?) and stock up on presents (yes, he has a cat, but that doesn't mean he wants to receive peppermint flavored catnip every year), minho does absolutely nothing.   
why?   
christmas just isn't his thing.   
even though his friends all call him the grinch (okay, mr. i-love-dark) and attempt to get him to participate (come on minho, please? c'mon felix, do your puppy dog eye thing), minho swears he'll see hell before the day he puts up a damn tree with a shiny star on top.   
it's one faithful night, the night before christmas morning, that minho is doing absolutely no different. he's even stockpiled up a list of shows he's challenging himself to finish instead of sleeping and shredded every invitation shoved in his mailbox by neighbors. okay, sure, the reindeer on that one card was cute, but the overly glittery snowflake was pushing it.   
so on christmas night, it's snowing. snowing hard, too, and he's received many phone calls and excited text messages about a 'white christmas'. minho could care less. snow just gives him an even better excuse to stay home and not go out shopping for candy canes and santa stockings.   
minho sighs as his phone rings for the eighth time in the past hour and a half.   
"no, woojin-hyung, i'm not moving, so please stop trying. and tell felix to stop sending me pictures of him with water in his eyes, it's not working."   
his orange tabby cat purrs from where she's stretched out over the dining table, bathing in the warm lamplight above her. minho rolls his eyes.   
"no wonder you're so fat. you don't do anything, you lazy rascal."   
not that he can talk. in fact, his plan includes his immobility for the whole night as well as all day tomorrow. it takes him about fifteen minutes to finally get comfortable, with his pillows stacked high around him and his computer balanced on his knees. the blanket is pulled up to his chin (fine, okay, it has elsa on it. sue him. it was a present and it's soft, so he's going to use it) and he's even called the electrical company to make sure the power isn't planning on going out any time soon.   
it's going to be a good night.   
but when does anything ever go minho's way?   
it's exactly 1:53 a.m. on christmas morning when minho's window shatters.   
minho doesn't scream and he doesn't curl up into a ball out of fright. but he does, however, let out a string of very colorful profanities because  _goddamnit_ , he's a broke as hell college student so how the  _hell_  is he supposed to pay to get that fixed?   
"oh for christ's sake, you've got to be kidding me." minho groans when the glass flies in every direction, landing just inches away from his left bedpost.   
"i was at a good part, damnit!" he hits the pause button and looks up.   
just in time to see a figure clothed in red and green swing through the very obvious hole in his window.   
a boy.   
wearing a very colorful, very ugly christmas-themed sweater.   
it takes three seconds.   
the first, minho blinks.   
the second, he blinks again.   
and the third, he bursts out laughing.   
he's wiping tears from his eyes when his fit of giggles finally subsides, and the boy is standing against the wall with a very unamused look painted on his face.   
"okay, okay i'm sorry but dude. dude, what the  _hell_  are you wearing?" minho gasps, looking him up and down.   
he's dressed in a cherry red sweater with a green triangle pattern across the collar and the hem, and a cartoon reindeer laughing on the front. there's a word bubble, which minho can't read because the boy is too far away, but the sleeves have gold printed letters that scream the word, "merry".   
"are you done?" the kid sighs, crossing his arms.  
minho thinks for a second, holds up one finger, shuts his laptop, and positions himself so he can see better.  
"hold it--yes." he says, holding back another fit of laughter.   
"great. so i'm here to kill you."   
the boy balances the heel of one foot on the toe of his other shoe and picks boredly at his fingernails.   
"wait-wait  _you're_  the person who's supposed to kill me? like,  _you're_  the murderer?" minho gawks, eyeing his 'murderer'.  
"i-- _yes_ , no i broke into your window for no reason." the kid sighs dramatically again.   
minho can't stop it this time, so he bursts out into laughter again. okay, it's not his fault that one, the kid looks like he could be his son, and two, he's wearing the ugliest christmas sweater minho's ever seen.   
at the sight of his quirked eyebrow, he stops eventually, coughing behind his sleeve to hide the rest of them.   
"i just--shouldn't you be like, dressed in black? and where's your evil person mask? and why don't you have a black beanie on?" minho sizes the boy up, raking his eyes up and down his outfit, which consists of said ugly christmas sweater, black jeans, and white adidas. his hair, which matches the night sky outside, is flecked with snowflakes that are slowly melting and dampening the strands of hair.   
"okay, hold up. that is so stereotypical right there. why do all serial killers have to wear black? like, there's no  _dress code_  for being a serial killer. besides, is it really that big of a deal that i was trying to get into the christmas spirit? you didn't have to go and  _laugh_  at me. you, sir, have  _offended_  me." the boy spawns off, placing his hands strategically on his hips and shaking his head in that "i'm not mad, i'm just disappointed" gesture minho's parents always used when he did something he wasn't supposed to.   
"i mean, well, aren't, um, serial killers supposed to try to blend in? isn't that the point of wearing black? i mean, it's  _definitely_  not like that sweater right there is catching  _anyone's_  attention at all, but like, wouldn't black be more suitable?" minho counters, raising his own eyebrow.   
"okay, well, if all serial killers wore black, then wouldn't everyone be more suspicious of a person with a black hood and a mask? if i just ran in here wearing a black ninja costume, you'd probably assume i was a robber slash murderer. but since i didn't, you didn't even think of it, did you?"   
the boy has this standoffish tone to his voice that doesn't match his squirrel-like features and curved, round eyes. (no, no, no, minho, stop finding your serial killer cute. stop it right now. he is not cute.)   
and minho has to admit that he makes a good point. a good enough point that he has nothing to counter his statement.   
"i mean, the fact that you broke into my window might have been a hint?" he phrases it more like a question, earning himself another 'are you an idiot' stare.   
"well, i wasn't gonna ring your doorbell, was i?" he asks, and minho smiles.   
"see, but you're being a stereotype by breaking into my window in the middle of the night. if you'd rung my doorbell, then you'd be standing out even more, which would obviously divert me from the fact that you're apparently here to kill me."  
hook, line, and sinker.   
"alright, well, if i'm supposed to be wearing black, shouldn't you be scared? i literally just told you my plan consists of you dying." is his reply, and minho draws in a deep breath, mocking an overly dramatic gasp.   
"okay, okay, hang on, now  _you're_  stereotyping  _me_. that is so offensive. what, just because i'm your victim i should be clinging on to some teddy bear begging you not to kill me?"   
the kid shrugs.   
"maybe?"   
"oh. well, the teddy bear's in the top shelf of my closet. if you could hand it to me, that'd be great." minho points to the closed door across the room and the boy stiffens, position now feigning annoyance.   
"i shouldn't be having this conversation with you anyways. you need to die."   
he steps closer, fumbling through his sweater for something. and no, minho definitely does not find the fact that the (extremely hideous) sweater falls to his knees cute. and no, there is no urge to brush the strands of hair hanging in his eyes out of his face. none.   
"oh, oh  _jesus_   _christ_ , you were serious about that, huh?" minho sighs.   
damn it. he couldn't have had one nice christmas eve, could he?   
all he wants to do is crawl back under his blanket and play friends until one in the afternoon and then sleep through the rest of his day, is that too much to ask?   
apparently, because said 'serial killer' is now advancing towards his bed with a gleaming black gun resting against his palm. his stance shows he has experience, the way his finger immediately sets itself to the trigger shows it's been held in that position many times.   
"can i at least ask why i'm being held a gun at?" minho questions, running a hand through his hair. he's going to put off sudden death for as long as possible and maybe somehow charm his way out of it.   
"i have my reasons." he says quietly, now less than five feet and well in shooting range.   
"oh, come on. if i'm gonna die anyways, don't i at least get to know why?" minho pushes.   
the kid sighs. (he really does that a lot, doesn't he?)  
"look, you know things you shouldn't know. and you've also seen my face now. so i either have to gouge your eyes out or kill you, and frankly, the second one is slightly less gory." he supplies, advancing.   
goddamn. he should've listened and gone to woojin's giant christmas party. or his neighbor's cat reunion, even though fiona would've hated him for it. (yes, he's named his cat fiona. judge him.)   
"um. is there any way this ends in me not dying?" minho squeaks, eyeing the gun nervously.   
"i'm sorry, okay? you're very pretty, and killing pretty people usually isn't very high on my roster. and you're probably a great person, all that crap. but bottom line is, this is going to end with a bullet in you." the boy comes even closer.   
and why in god's name does minho find him slightly endearing? why is the sharp look of determination clouding his eyes attractive?   
"can't i at least get last words?" minho's giving up. death might not be so bad.   
the boy rolls his eyes and minho can read the word bubble on his shirt, finally.   
"go for it." he sighs, and minho thinks of something, anything he could possible say.   
"uh. a name, maybe? could i get one?"   
his finger hits the trigger and his hand clasps the bottom tighter.   
three.   
two.   
one.   
searing, blinding, pain.   
the worst pain he's ever felt, building up in the right side of his torso. minho's breathing becomes labored and the sharp, clear, horrendous pain becomes brighter and brighter so minho sees stars, and is he dying? is this what it feels like to die?  
"you have fifteen minutes, tops. the name's jisung. that name leaves your tongue to anyone else, i will make sure you don't wake up the next morning. cheers, minho-hyung. and if you don't die, try to find me, yeah? you're still very pretty."   
and he's gone, out the window, leaving behind nothing but the bullet embedded in minho's side and a spray of clear glass across the floor.   
through the spots coloring his vision, minho stretches his fingers and slides his phone towards him, clumsily unlocking it. his own trembling breathing rings in his ears as he clasps his left hand over the bleeding wound, trying to ignore the searing burning in his side. the first contact that pops up he taps, praying to every god he's ever known for him not to lose consciousness or his life.   
"yeah."   
changbin.   
thank the Lord.   
"changbin i have like ten minutes left to live so you might want to come drive me to the hospital slash call an ambulance because i'm not exactly sure how much longer i'm planning on staying awake."   
after that it's a blur of the younger screaming at him not to lose consciousness and whooping sirens and flashing blue and red.   
and he wakes up three days later in a hospital bed with a burning side and a sleepless changbin cutting off the circulation in his wrist.  
yeah. at least minho has a legit reason to hate christmas now.    
and that night, once he's alone, his mind wanders to those eyes and that goddamn disgusting christmas sweater.   
and the name rolls of his tongue like sand in a sandstorm.   
jisung.   
the serial killer who spared his life.   
the very pretty serial killer who spared his life.   
he shot him, sure, but technically he was supposed to kill him so minho kind of hates him and loves him at the same time.   
he manages to reach his phone and turn it on, to one missed call from an unknown number and a singe voicemail.  
  
_you're still pretty, even with a bullet wound. catch me if you can, hyung. i'll run slower._

**Author's Note:**

> hi~  
> kudos and comments are highly appreciated, i love reading comments!  
> thanks for reading, even though i could've written it much better but it's really early and i'm posting this so yea. :)  
> have a good one! <3


End file.
